


The Laughter of Dead Tricksters

by onthewaters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, First Time, M/M, Tricksters, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthewaters/pseuds/onthewaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean returns from Hell, the boys have an encounter with another Trickster and Gabriel ends up assisting. And then there is that whole Lilith thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Laughter of Dead Tricksters

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
> If you consider posting this work to Goodreads: Please do not do it. These stories are fanfiction, and I don't want them near a site that's primarily for published original fiction.
> 
> While I appreciate that you might enjoy having them on your Goodreads shelves, please respect my wishes.
> 
> Thank you.

When asked about it later, Sam said that the whole mess began with the Leia outfit and the oil but honestly? That was just a lie because Dean kept going bright red when Sam mentioned it. And he deserved the embarrassment.

No, the real beginning was having to fight Paris Hilton or rather, a Leshii masquerading as Paris Hilton. In Sam's opinion, that did not make it any better. But it was the beginning of a suspicion.

It hadn't been the first time they'd tangled with pagan deities, and neither of them thought that it would be the last. But something the Leshii had said stuck with Sam. Adaptation. The Leshii was no longer able to get worshippers as a forest god so it had adapted to the modern version of idols, to celebrities. The pagan gods Dean and Sam had tangled two years ago had similarly moved on to what worked in the modern world.

Then, of course, there had been the Trickster. The other one, that is.

***

Dean had been back from Hell for three months.

Sam still had problems believing it and woke up most mornings thinking that it had all been a dream and that the person in the other bed was Ruby. But each time when he turned over to look or draw her closer, it wasn't Ruby but Dean. And each time, Sam thought he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Then usually, Dean would open his mouth and Sam corrected himself - Dean was the most annoying human being and best brother anyone could ever have. Occasionally also the most hilarious, as proven by Dean's theory about re-hymenation. And the bit about being resurrected by an angel, which was just as ludicrous as it could get with Dean who embraced sin like it was going away tomorrow. But yeah, having Dean back was the best ever.

Dean said he didn't remember Hell. Maybe not during the day, Sam thought, but at night? Dean's dreams remembered something and whatever it was, it was not pleasant. But Dean did not want to deal with it, and Sam figured the best he could do was to give Dean the time and space he needed. So they went on small hunts, easy pickings. Dean stopped flinching at odd moments and Sam breathed even more easily, despite their clash about Ruby and the demon blood.

Sam himself was good with the world - he had his brother back and he had a chance to get powerful enough to kill Lilith. If something else hit the fan, they'd deal with it. Together.

His confidence lasted until a chase during an ordinary hunt ended up with Sam in a cell, a small dog with a keyring sitting out of reach and _Captain Jack Sparrow_ leering at him from outside the cell. He reeked of what Sam could only call six weeks without washing and a barrel of rotgut rum, and he ran a coin across his knuckles.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and desperately tried to disbelieve it. It had to be a joke.

"This is not funny, you bastard," he shouted. "It wasn't that great a movie!"

"Ah, but it was!" Sparrow leered even harder. "And also? So nice of you to accept my invitation even if you didn't know you were invited and came with an idiot of a brother who actually tried to hit me and -"

"Shut up!" Sam tested the bars. No give. "You're the Trickster, aren't you."

The Trickster-as-Sparrow did the Sparrow movements and then bowed. "You've heard of me!"

Oh God. Murder wasn't going to be enough. "What the hell do you want? Last time was enough, really!"

Sparrow looked confused, then the light dawned. "Oh no, that was a colleague, Sammy," said Sparrow, the grin gone. "This is all me. And that was my prey you stole and my game you wrecked and my ship you commandeered. Figuratively, as it were." He tapped his be-ringed fingers against the bars. "And since you destroyed my game, well."

Sam counted to ten under his breath. A Trickster, a Jack Sparrow fanboy. Just wonderful. "So what is it you want?"

"I want you to play the game, savvy?"

"Just me? What have you done with Dean?"

Sparrow grinned at him. "Oh, he's still around. I got him his very own movie to star in." He waved his hands dismissingly. "No, no need to thank me."

Sam kept the snarl off his face with effort only. "I wasn't going to thank you, I want to know where Dean is!"

Sparrow tutted at him. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Dean's fine, he's just a little - tied up at the moment. Don't worry, he's probably enjoying it. So. Play the game."

"No," said Sam. "We're not toys. Let us go."

Sparrow grinned. "But you are toys, Sam. Both of you. You will play the game and you will take the parts I give you and you will play them. Because you aren't getting out otherwise." He pointed at Sam. "Ever."

Goddamnit. "How do we play?"

Sparrow leered at him again. "I give you a part, you play it, savvy? Anything in particular you always wanted?"

Sam felt his temper fray. "You're nuts. Stark raving mad. My life is not a movie. And why the Hell do you look like this?"

Sparrow grinned at him, gold tooth sparkling. "Because everybody recognizes him, Sammy. Because there are people out there who worship him. People who want to be him or fuck him or kill him or marry him. I like his style." The grin vanished. "Now. Play the game. Because if you don't - the game'll kill you."

And was gone.

Sam glared at the cell and the dog and the bars. He sighed, supposing that there was no helping it. But before anything could happen, he found that the world greyed out at the edges until it was completely white.

***

Color came back within seconds, and with it, noise. Sam was in a crowd of unwashed bodies reeking of rotten food and excrement, packed so tightly he wouldn't have been able to do so much as lift his arms, even if they hadn't been chained. A prison - iron bars, old damp stone, a contingent of guards with bayonets standing guard. French revolution, if Sam recalled the pictures in the history books correctly.

He was being pushed at from every side, panicked faces all around him, people shouting in French. A woman's breasts were pushed against his arm, her face stained with dirt, teartracks clearly visible. Her teeth were nothing but brown stumps. Sam jerked back, but there was nowhere to go and he fell over someone's feet. He stumbled into a man who braced himself against the bars to catch Sam's fall. Sam nodded at him and gaped at an empty eyesocket, still raw with gore. The man gave him a twisted grin in acknowledgement but there was no humor in it. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, but that gave him vertigo.

The man, now pressed between Sam and the bars, whispered something to him, a question. Sam shook his head. "I don't understand French."

He got another grin and a pat to the shoulder. The man spoke again. _Almost over_ , the tone seemed to say.

A trumpet sounded outside, and the man's grin faded, replaced by grim seriousness. He patted Sam's shoulder again, and said something Sam again didn't understand. Sam shrugged at him helplessly. He frowned, then seemed to find something.

"Ave Citoyen Robespierre. Morituri te salutant."

Sam blinked at him, then rolled his eyes. The man laughed, and the incongruity silenced the prison momentarily. The man shouted something in French. This time it sounded rude. Someone else took up the cry, and soon the whole prison seemed to be shouting abuse at the guards. The man laughed again, bitterly and slightly hysterical.

Sam had no idea how much time passed. There were no clocks, the guards changed at seemingly random intervals, and there was neither food nor water. His Latin-speaking one-eyed friend let him slump against him when he got tired; there was no space to lie or sit down. The chains were heavy, and Sam ached by the time the one-eyed man started another tirade against the guards.

Then the guards opened the bars and dragged him out by his long hair. Sam understood nothing of the argument but whatever it was, it was bad. One of the guards still had his hand in the one-eyed man's hair and was jerking him about. Sam found himself pulled out among six or seven others, and they were all pushed and pulled along, chains hampering them. Sam tried to keep to his feet, but they didn't give him enough space to walk, and he stumbled again and again. One of the guards cuffed him, then twisted his ear. Sam gritted his teeth in pain.

They were taken outside, and Sam's eyes, all their eyes, fixed on the guillotine there, bloodied blade and bloodied basket, set before a tribunal with six stern-looking men. A tribunal with an audience - there was a howling, shrieking crowd around them, from three year olds to knitting grannies, screaming for blood. Sam grasped the chains in his hands. It was a game, a game of the Trickster, nothing more. But the guillotine looked real and if Sam died here, he'd die in the real world. Wouldn't he?

He didn't get the chance to think about it. A riflebutt slammed into his neck, his right kidney. Sam went down, agony radiating up and down his body. The screaming seemed further off, muted somehow. God, he hurt.

The one-eyed man with the funky sense of humor had also been forced down on the slick cobbles. He was shouting at the tribunal. Sam caught the name Robespierre and something that had all the invective of _motherfucker_ , which the guard behind them did not like at all, because he hit the man sideways, slamming him into Sam, blood spraying the cobbles, the tribunal, and the guards. Sam tried to hold the man up, blood sheeting down his arms and the mob was howling again and he still did not understand all the French.

"Take it easy there," someone from the tribunal called out and Sam knew that voice.

The Trickster. The other one, the one who had killed Dean over a hundred times to make a point. Sam shuddered, still trying to stop the Latin speaker's bleeding, and looked up. Yes, that was the son of a bitch, and he wore a black robe.

The Trickster stood, towering over the other - seated - judges. One of the guards, with a more elaborate uniform, stepped smartly forward, unheeding of the fact that he was standing in fresh and dried blood, shouting in French. The Trickster glowered down on him and two of the other judges seemed to agree with whatever the guard said. Sam missed the next part because the unconscious man in his arms shifted and he had to get a better grip to keep pressure on the wound. When he looked up next, the guard looked pissed. The crowd went wild, this time apparently with disappointment.

The judge on the left asked something in French and the Trickster answered again in English. "Madame Guillotine is no longer thirsty. Go."

Sam kept hold of his burden as he was jerked up and dragged over to a long bench at the courtyard's wall, where he was allowed to sit down. The crowd kept shouting, probably for more executions, but when it became clear that the entertainment had been cancelled, it began to disperse.

The one-eyed man moaned, beginning to wake. Sam kept applying direct pressure on the wound with shaking hands.

Two Tricksters...

***

And then he was elsewhere.

Elsewhere, in this case, meant on a rock, in the sun, dressed in nothing but a loincloth and with an eagle picking away at his liver.

Sam flinched at the sudden difference, then the pain hit and he screamed. The eagle fluttered up, startled by the noise and Sam stared in horror at the mangled mess his right side had become.

"That's a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Sammy."

The Trickster - their Trickster - perched on the rock above Sam's head, wearing more than a loincloth at least, one of the Greek things that covered only one arm, exposing a sculpted chest and arm. Save for the haircut, he did look like a character from a sword and sandal movie. The eagle circled around, apparently unsure what to think of him and unwilling to come closer. Sam pulled at the chains but there was no give.

The Trickster looked down at him and for once he wasn't smiling.

"You - are you working with him?"

"No." The Trickster jumped off the rock and made shooing motions at the eagle. "Come back later, buddy. Go find some turtles to crack open." The bird gave him another somewhat unsettled glare and flew off. Sam breathed a little easier.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." The Trickster dipped his fingers into the blood on Sam's abdomen, making Sam shudder. "It's not like you're out of trouble."

"If you're not Sparrow's partner, why are you here?"

The Trickster contemplated his fingernails. "I'm being blackmailed."

"What?"

"I'm being blackmailed into playing bodyguard for you." He wiped the blood on his fingers off at his tunic. "This could be more trouble than you're worth."

"Who's blackmailing you?" Sam asked. The pain was easing and if he remembered his mythology correctly, the eaten liver always grew back.

"The angel Castiel," the Trickster said with a bitchface that was a work of art. "I'll get you off this rock in a minute, but first a couple of shots for the road."

"Wait," Sam said. "Am I getting this right? You're being blackmailed by _Castiel_? How?"

"If you know what's good for you, don't piss off the nerd angels. That brat has things up his sleeve you'd never expect. Also? No sense of self-preservation," the Trickster added contemplatively. "I was convinced to be a good little Trickster and keep you alive and in one piece - more or less - until the game ends."

That was - interesting. He'd barely met the angel but Sam would not have taken Castiel for the blackmailing type. Same with Uriel. Intimidation and persuasion, yes. But blackmail? It begged the question what Castiel knew about the Trickster.

Later.

"What about Dean? Sparrow said something that sounded like Dean was captured or something."

"Castiel's taking care of him. That's why he called me, by the way - can't do both of you at once."

That was good news for once. If Castiel was with Dean, Sam could deal with this. "Okay. Can you get me off this rock?"

"Patience, grasshopper. Couple things you've got to know first." He stuck up one finger. "This is another Trickster's construct. I can move through it but I can't change it. Or rather, I can only change it the same way you can, by interacting with it." Second finger. "When the Trickster wants it to, the reality changes. I'm not moving with you, so I have to go looking for you again." Finger number three. "He can't keep this up forever. Takes effort and constant attention. So we're playing a waiting game here. Once he starts slipping, we crack it open and out you go."

"How long will it take?"

The Trickster shrugged. "Don't know. Depends just how creative we get. The more he has to work on the construct, the harder it gets. If you've got questions, ask them now because that eagle is going to figure out in a moment that there are no turtles here and come back for some liver without a nice Chianti."

Sam nodded. "That's why we can't just stay here and wait for him to get tired?"

"Yep."

"And - Dean's gonna be okay?"

"As long as Castiel manages to keep him out of trouble."

Sam breathed through his nose. He still had blood on him but the pain was gone and beneath the red, the skin looked whole. "Okay. What now?"

Instead of an answer, the Trickster picked up a jagged piece of stone and smashed it down on the chain tethering Sam to the rock until the chain links shattered.

"That should do it. A couple of minutes and the venue will change." He gripped Sam's arm. "When it does, I'll have to go looking for you again. Try to stay alive till then."

Sam nodded. "Uh... the other Trickster is appearing as Jack Sparrow, so I called him that. What do I call you?"

A somewhat wry smile appeared on the Trickster's face but before he could answer, he began to blur. "Looks like you're going. Good luck."

The world went white and Sam fell.

***

He came out face to face with a vampire, fangs dripping blood. And Sam had a nightdress on. A frilly one.

The vampire looked just as surprised as Sam felt, staring at the nightdress. Then she began to laugh.

Sam decided that discretion was the better part of valor and ran into the - Transylvanian? - village before the vampire could recover. There was a well, a cow... he remembered this movie dimly, it looked like something Dean would have watched to heckle it. For a moment he wished he could trade with Dean, no matter _what_ the Trickster had cast him as, but then again, Dean in such a nightdress? Sam could hear him freaking out about it already. The snow and ice bit at his bare feet and Sam swore that even if it was the last thing he'd do, he'd hunt Sparrow down and rip the bastard's guts out. This was worse than the monster movie shapeshifter.

He picked a house at random; the laughter behind him had subsided and the faster he found a stake, the better. There was movie-Transylvanian wooden furniture. Sam smashed a chair and felt better armed. He kept hold of his impromptu stake and went to look for clothes.

No dice. The set apparently did not extend to not immediately visible props. Sam made do with the blanket which helped the cold at least. At least the vampire seemed to have lost interest.

He settled down to wait, improvised stake in hand.

When the other Trickster - their Trickster - appeared, Sam remembered the movie and gave him his nastiest glare.

"Might have guessed you'd get to play Van Helsing in this."

The Trickster shrugged and tossed the wide-brimmed hat on the table. "The part of the hapless village girl was already taken. But on the plus side, if you stay here, you get to sleep with David actually-I'm-a-friar Wenham."

"I hate you so, so much."

"You could call me Van Helsing," the Trickster smirked.

Sam huddled deeper into his blanket, trying not to think about medieval hygiene standards. "I wouldn't do that to you - Gabriel." He was skewered by the Trickster's glare and jerked back, alarmed. But the expression was gone as quickly as it had come.

"That would be Abraham," the Trickster said evenly, eyes watchful.

Sam shook his head, grinning. "Gabriel. At least according to this movie. You want Abraham, convince Sparrow to put me in the book. Or the Francis Ford Coppola version. You'd get Anthony Hopkins instead of Hugh Jackman, though. Also?" He set it up precisely the way he would with Dean, wide eyes, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "I can come up with something worse. Much, much worse."

The Trickster gave him a look Sam found unreadable. Then he grinned somewhat mirthlessly, as if something wasn't really funny but the only thing you could do was laugh about it anyway. "Alright, Sam. If it makes you feel better."

It didn't really, but if the alternative was thinking about the sheer amount of trouble they were in and what was going on with Dean, Sam'd take it.

"Can you tell if Dean is okay?"

The Trickster - Gabriel - shook his head. "Nope. But I doubt Castiel will let anything happen to him."

Before Sam could ask him what was going to happen next, the world went white again.

***

This time it came back in a wash of color and music. Dozens of beautiful people in bright costumes, the women with more jewelry than Sam had ever seen on one person simultaneously, the men, all bearded, in sleek robes. Sam himself was also wearing such an outfit, indigo embroidered with silver stripes resembling long blades of grass. It was night and Sam, as well as the hundreds of people were looking out into a square where over a dozen men knelt, in white suits, tall red hats on their heads, singing and banging tambourines. Sam didn't understand the language, but since there didn't seem to be any immediate danger, he sat still and watched the people, listening to the song.

They looked serious, mostly, a few women partially hidden behind a red veil crying.

"It's a wedding," Gabriel whispered behind him. "Two enemy kingdoms, united in marriage. The couple aren't too sure of all this yet."

Sam turned a little and managed to catch a glimpse of him. He was in deep dark green, the embroidery little golden horns and trumpets. For once his smile was not bitchy.

"What are they singing?" Sam whispered back.

Gabriel leaned forward to speak softly into his ear.

"Oh Lord  
Oh Lord; oh Lord  
The one who soothes the poor  
Oh Moinuddin Chisti, oh Lord

Oh Lord, reside in my heart  
You are the king of kings  
Ali’s beloved

Oh Lord; reside in my heart  
The destiny of the ones in despair, you have changed for the better  
Oh Lord  
At your door, oh Lord  
I’ve seen it from afar  
Your confidants bow down to you  
You are the saint of India, Lord  
Your status is great  
By loving you, Lord, I have found Muhammad

Oh Lord, reside in my heart  
You are the king of kings  
Ali’s beloved

The alms of my old age  
It is the charity of my old age  
That I have come in your refuge  
All my problems have been averted  
Your bliss is all over me  
No matter how much one may envy  
It's just too little, oh Lord  
It's not acceptable, oh my guide, to leave your feet.

Oh Lord, reside in my heart  
You are the king of kings  
Ali’s beloved

O Lord, reside in my heart  
The destiny of the ones in despair, you have changed for the better."

Sam hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes until he opened them to white.

***

Color was back, and it was red. Everywhere. Sam stumbled away from a body that was spraying bright arterial blood all over him, fingers cramping on the sword he was pulling from the body. It had been a man with sweatsoaked curls and large dark eyes. His mouth was still open, whether in surprise or a dying scream, Sam couldn't tell.

Another crowd. Screaming in Latin, or something that sounded like Latin. Sam looked up at the ranks and felt faint at the thousands of faces. Where he could make something out in their expressions, they were all different. Boredom, laughter, anger. To these people, it was just like a baseball game.

A hand closed over his bicep. Gabriel, in armor, face serious as shit. "Come on."

Sam let himself be led out of the arena, absently noting that it was not the Colosseum. The sword in his hand was heavy.

Gabriel pushed aside people in uniforms, armor, or frayed tunics, barked Latin orders and finally had him in a room with a bench and leatherworking tools, though it was thankfully empty of people. Sam dropped the sword. His entire body strummed with tension. This was not as bad as seeing Dean die, but right up there. He couldn't stop thinking of the way it had sounded when he'd pulled the sword from the man's body. Wet, squelching. A sucking sound. Bile rose in his throat.

But before he could turn to vomit, Gabriel caught his face in his hands.

"No, Sam. This is not real. You did not kill anyone today. This is not real."

"I still feel sick," Sam got out, on the verge of being messily sick and trying not to be.

"It's okay," Gabriel said, and for once the sardonic tone was gone. "It's okay. Like a nightmare, Sam. Just like a nightmare. It's not real. Nothing of it."

"We don't kill people," Sam said, and felt stupid for it. They had killed people. They had. He had.

But Gabriel nodded. "I know."

"I don't want to do this anymore."

"I know. Hold still." Gabriel began unhooking and unlacing the armor Sam wore, banded and heavy. When it fell to the ground, he finally breathed easier. Gabriel handed him a leather jug with water. Sam closed his eyes and poured it over his face. It was warm and tasted stale but he didn't care as long as it washed off at least the worst of the blood. Gabriel left him alone for a moment and Sam leaned against the wall, glad for some stability.

"That was an arena," he finally said.

Gabriel nodded. In the Roman armor, he looked less small. Not that he really was anyway, Sam thought, but next to Sam, everyone was small. And Gabriel was shorter than Dean. "Yes. I don't know the movie, though."

Sam didn't either. "It looked like _Gladiator_ meets _Splatter 4_."

Gabriel grinned. "This is nothing. You should have seen Rome in its heyday. Two thousand years ago? It was the place to be."

"You're that old?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Trickster, remember? Demigod. Most of my kind were old and grizzled when Christ was born." He knocked against the breastplate. "Yeah, I'm that old. Old enough to know that this is not historically accurate."

"It's not?" Sam asked.

Gabriel gave him another of those unreadable looks, then seemed to shrug off whatever thought had crossed his mind. "Nope. See here? That's Fabulinus, whom no Roman in his right mind would have picked to emboss a breastplate with. Teaches children to speak."

"I guess I can see that," Sam said. "What else is wrong?"

"Your tunic," Gabriel said with a grin. This time it seemed to include Sam, not make him its target. That felt - nice. "This kind of red? That's a carmine dye, and that comes from South America."

Sam looked down at himself. "At least it's not purple."

"Emperor you're not," Gabriel agreed. He kicked the bench across the room to Sam. "From the yelling out there, we're going to be here for a bit. You got any other questions, now's your chance."

Sam sat down. He was tired but there was only one question he wanted to ask just now.

"Can you check on Dean?"

Gabriel sighed and took the opposite end of the bench and braced one sandalled foot on it. "No. The more I move around in here, the more likely Sparrow will notice that something's wrong with this picture. Too risky." He hesitated. "Sam, Castiel is right there. He dragged your brother out of Hell, he'd be stupid to let anything happen to him now."

"I just got him back," Sam said. "I mean, I know you don't agree, but he's my brother."

Gabriel sighed. "I've got brothers, too, and I sure as fuck wouldn't sacrifice myself for any of the bastards. You really ought to get over yourselves. Both of you."

Sam rested his elbows on his knees. "You said that before. But, you know, if he died at eighty in his sleep or had a heart attack fucking four girls at once or his liver gives out from drinking too much, it'd be different. We hunt things, we do our best, it's just not fair. And he sold his soul for me. Don't you think that counts for something?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Stupidity, mainly. Or did you mean it was proof that he loves you? Anyone with eyes can see that. No, Sam. You're mortal. You all die. Some sooner than others. Fucking with the right order, the right progression, birth, life, death, is a dumb idea."

"Like you'd know," Sam said. "You're a god."

"Small one." Gabriel stretched, apparently only a little uncomfortable in the armor. "I've been watching you monkeys for millennia. I've seen a few who came back and it always upset the balance of the boat. Occasionally, it started a religion." He smiled sharply. "Yes, Jesus was born and died on the cross and returned to life on the third day. All true. Then he walked the earth for forty days and spoke to those who had known him in life and then he went to Heaven. All true. And the world never was the same."

Sam swallowed.

Gabriel turned that too-sharp smile on him. "I like the world, Sam Winchester. I like beautiful women and handsome men. I like strawberries with champagne. I like the dicks to get what they've got coming. What I don't like, and I hope you're paying attention, is _dumb_. And _dumb_ is when you start rocking the boat because you think that you're more important than the right order of the world. That right there? Dumb on a cosmic scale. I can sort of forgive Dean, your daddy really did a number on him as far as you're concerned. You? No. Oh no. Because you, Sam? You're smart. Smart enough to realize that you have got to live on. At some point, at least. That is what pisses me off here and that is what I was trying to drive into your skull."

"Dude, your method sucks," Sam said, as deadpan as he could.

Gabriel grimaced. "Seems so, since I didn't even make a dent."

"You did." Sam looked down. "I tried to get Dean back. But when it didn't work, I stopped. And then -" He choked.

"Yeah," Gabriel sighed. "The little angel that could turned up, dragged him out, and has now appointed himself Dean-o's very own guardian angel. If he got any more earnest, I'd have to vomit."

Sam's mouth twitched and he hid the grin behind his hand. Gabriel glared at him.

"Well, tell me it's not true. Have you looked at him? Huge eyes, no fashion sense, and so serious he wouldn't know a joke if it humped his leg and called him Papa."

Sam bit down on his knuckles.

"And the voice? Really? If I wasn't certain he doesn't even know who Batman is, I'd say he's doing the worst parody in nature. And the way he looks at your brother? When that kid figures out what his dick is for, Dean had better watch out."

Suddenly, it was not that funny anymore. Sam glared at Gabriel. "Dean is straight, and - and - you can't have sex with an angel!"

Gabriel leaned back, bracing his shoulders against the wall and smirked. "You sure? Because from where I'm sitting? Jacob sure wasn't fighting with the angel by the end." He leered.

Sam wished for some brain bleach. "I'm not listening to this anymore."

"What, you got anything against the angel thing? Or the gay thing?"

Sam opened his mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but something in Gabriel's face made him stop. Something raw and open, something oddly old. And the world went white.

***

The less said about the Wodehouse, the better. Except that Gabriel laughed his fool head off at Sam trying to play the trumpet.

***

Sam went down hard in the sand. The sun beat down on him and there were people screaming everywhere. Scrambling up, he stared into the stone face of a jackal.

"Oh, come on!"

He was in the middle of ancient Egyptian ruins, a battle between Egyptians and what appeared to be the Foreign Legion raging around him. A glance down confirmed that he was supposed to be a Legionnaire.

"Just great. Another Sommers movie."

Sam ducked behind the statue and tried hard to be invisible. The fight didn't seem to be winding down.

" _The Mummy_ , huh."

Sam flinched and whirled around. Gabriel was crouching in the sand next to him, also in a Legionnaire's uniform.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

The Trickster rolled his eyes. "Oh yes. You're in the middle of a battle, bullets flying and camels spitting, and you freak when someone talks to you. Glad we got that sorted out."

Sam ducked lower when a bullet struck the statue just a little too close to his head. Too close meaning in this case less than ten feet away from him. "That's because of the battle, you -" He only just swallowed the _moron_ that wanted out. Who knew if Gabriel really would decide that this was more trouble than it was worth?

A glint in the Trickster's eye told him he'd figured it out anyway. "Now, now, Sammy. Is that any way to talk to your rescuer?"

"Except you're not rescuing me," Sam snarled, goaded beyond patience by even more bullets striking way too close to him. "You're sitting here being a smartass and for all I know, the bullets won't even do anything to you! And stop calling me Sammy, it's Sam."

Gabriel leaned back and grinned. "You know, the little angel that could didn't actually demand that I be nice to you. Sammy."

Sam breathed deeply. Distraction, now, before he tried to strangle the son of a bitch. Sand, heat, sweat. Leather, gun oil, stone. Metal and sun. "How is he getting these realities so realistic?"

Gabriel shrugged. "He's not doing it, you are. He provides the picture and the sound, and your brain matches that up with what's supposed to be there. If you hadn't known snow is cold, you wouldn't have felt cold earlier."

Crap. That did mean that Sam, or rather Sam's brain, was doing half the work for Sparrow.

"By that logic, if I get hit by a bullet, I'll only be injured because I know I should be."

"Gold star," the Trickster said. "All it takes is a bit of illusion, then you start doing it to yourselves." His face was more serious than Sam had seen it. "Doesn't affect me, of course, or little Castiel."

"Right," said Sam. The fight had moved further into the ruins and he stopped twitching at every whine of a bullet. "So how exactly are you saving me from this?"

Gabriel gave him another unreadable look. "By grounding you. Not letting you get caught up in the story."

"Huh." Maybe they could use that in some way. Sam set his hand down on the sand, trying to concentrate only on what he really felt, not what he should be feeling. But it was still hot and shifted under his touch. He could feel the single grains against the skin of his palm, catching at calluses and slithering under his nails.

It wasn't really sand. Sam breathed in again. It wasn't really sand and there was no sun-heated stone. He could not be smelling leather and sweaty clothing, he was back in Indiana. Not in Egypt. There was no sand in their motel room, and it did not smell like the desert.

"Keep going," Gabriel whispered. "Whatever you're doing, it works."

There was no sand. There had to be the worn cloth of the quilt and the smell of laundry soap. He could not be feeling sand between his teeth. He should be smelling Dean's beer from when the bottle had gone over earlier. Smell Dean after a day without a shower, that very particular smell on Dean's hands from the steering wheel of the Impala, that sharpish, leatherish, sweaty smell from driving for hours. Not sand, not stone.

He almost had it. Back to the motel room, with its indoor smell, the feeling of cloth under him. Almost.

Then he was being moved, the sand rasped against him and the world went white again.

***

The next reality had Sam in a black suit, sunglasses at night, and a huge science fiction gun in his hands. And an tentacled alien creature in front of him, about to do - something to a bunch of bystanders. Sam pulled the trigger.

The alien exploded into slime and splattered all over. Sam wiped muck from his eyes and growled.

"Goddamnit, you son of a bitch, what the Hell is it with all the ickyness!"

Slow clapping from the right. Gabriel was smirking. Of course.

"Well done, Agent S."

"Why do you have to be such an asshole?" Sam asked, finally goaded beyond patience.

"Part of my charm." The Trickster held up a chrome stick. "Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your eyes to me. Thank you. Now, you have not seen a monster. Only a sasquatch." The stick flashed.

"Gabriel!"

"You don't like it? Ladies and gentlemen, this is not the bigfoot you are looking for." Another flash.

"Will you stop that!" Sam snarled, trying to free his foot from the slime.

"Why? This is fun. Ladies and gentlemen, please follow the black asphalt road." Flash.

"They're going to get brain damage!" Sam had finally freed his foot and reached for the stick. "Give it here."

Gabriel relinquished the stick with a pout. "I like the flashy-thing."

"You would," Sam said. "Let's just go away." He dragged Gabriel down the next dark alley, then stopped. Gabriel looked exhausted. "What's wrong with you?"

Gabriel grimaced. "Moving in Sparrow's construct is like stirring treacle. You can do it - first it's easy, then you start getting tired and by the time you're done cooking, you need physical therapy to even be able to lift your arms again. He picks the movies and I have to make an effort to get me into them when he doesn't want me there."

Sam tapped his stake. "So we're playing a waiting game in both directions."

Gabriel nodded. "'fraid so. Though I figure he'll get tired earlier since he's got to shift both you and Dean and Castiel and I keep breaking his toys."

Sam nodded. "Let's hurry this up." He leaned against the wall. This reality smelled like car exhaust, trash, and rain. Sirens far off, traffic, TV noises. Sam closed his eyes. Dean. Dean's smell, laundry soap. There were no city noises around. Nothing like it. It was quiet in here, in the motel, only the refrigerator humming. Dean shifting on the bed, jeans scraping across the quilt. Silence save for the humming. No traffic, no sirens. Dean's breathing, his nails tapping on the beer bottle. Dean.

***

When Sam opened his eyes, he figured it hadn't worked. He was on Jabba the Hutt's barge, aliens _everywhere_ , and Luke Skywalker having it out with the Sarlacc. At least he wasn't down there. Instead his clothes looked like those of some random alien. He ducked a flying - something - and made for a wall.

In all the chaos, Sam nearly missed it. He caught a flash of tan, turned, and was torn between relief and hysteria.

Castiel was holding off Jabba's bodyguards. Dean was doing his level best to choke Jabba to death, and he was wearing the Leia outfit. The panties, the bra, the chains. The bra was sticking out from his chest, leaving the impression that Dean was wearing a rather odd vendor's tray. The only way it could have looked more ridiculous was if Dean had had any chest hair.

"Hey Sam - whoa!" Gabriel had appeared by Sam's side and got an eyeful. "Hello, new fetish..."

Sam elbowed him. "Stop lusting after my brother." He stalked over, got his hands on the chain and helped choke. Gabriel mumbled something behind him but with all the noise, Sam didn't catch it.

"Hey, Sam," Dean gasped, hands slick with sweat on the chain. "How's it going?"

"Same old," Sam said and pulled. "You know. Surrounded by assholes."

Dean grinned, sweat running down his face. "I think this is the point where I say that this isn't what it looks like."

"You mean it's not you in the Leia slave outfit?"

Dean grunted and put some back into trying to take Jabba's head off with the chain. "Bitch."

"Jerk," said Sam, inexplicably happy.

"I need to mention that if you ever tell anyone about this, they'll never find your body?"

"I kinda gathered that," Sam forced out as the chain tightened another inch. Hell or no, Dean had not changed at all. But, really... "Dude, what did the Trickster put you into?"

"Don't ask, Sam. Don't fucking ask."

When Jabba finally stopped moving, Dean unhooked the chain and tossed it down. "God, but I want to kill that son of a bitch."

"Sparrow? Get in line."

"Together then," Dean bargained, obviously hoping for mayhem.

"I doubt that will be necessary."

Sam turned. Castiel had dispatched the aliens and had now joined them. He looked neutral, slightly untidy in the suit and coat, but undisturbed.

"The Trickster is beginning to tire. He will not be able to sustain another reality," Castiel said, then finally looked at Sam. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "Gabriel stuck to me like you said."

Castiel frowned, as human an expression as Sam had ever seen on him. "Gabriel?"

"That's right." Speaking of the devil. Or in this case the Trickster. "Sammy here gave me a nickname! Isn't he cute?"

Sam glared at him. Castiel's face had again turned unreadable. "I see. He - Gabriel - has assisted you then?"

Sam nodded and shot Dean a look. Dean wasn't looking happy which Sam could understand given the current wardrobe but he wasn't glaring hate at Gabriel either. In fact, he looked more subdued than anything, too exhausted to be pissed off. While Sam had to admit that carrying off a slave girl bikini was major league in badassery on the best of days, Dean wasn't even trying to compete. He just seemed to want to get out of there. Sam could sympathize.

The reality shifted to white, then returned in black. Black everywhere.

Sparrow stood across from them, stony-faced and pissed off. He was clapping his hands slowly.

"That's nice. That really is. You people are really the worst actors ever."

Castiel stepped toward him, so close that the trenchcoat nearly touched Sparrow. Sam started but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm and a headshake. _No, watch this._

"Your game ends here. Remove them from your reality or you will face the consequences." Okay, so the angel could get pissed off. And he wasn't shy about showing it either. Dean looked vaguely satisfied.

Sparrow did the hand motions again. "With such a display of angelic wrath, how can I refuse? I see you even brought backup." He tilted his head to look at Gabriel. "Seriously? You're on their side? I'd have thought this was fun for you, after all, you like being a Trickster! You made yourself into one!"

Gabriel said nothing. He simply cracked his fingers.

Sparrow blinked, then took a quick step back. "All right. You kids are no fun." He snapped his fingers and Sam was lying on the motel bed, Dean across the room, thankfully dressed. Dean was running his hands across his t-shirt and then fell back with a sigh.

"Shit, man," Dean said, sounding drained, relieved.

"You're telling me," Sam said and ran his hands down his body. Nothing. No blood, no pain. Thank God.

There was a flapping sound and Castiel stood between their beds. "Dean. Sam."

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, not even looking up. "Is this the real reality?"

"Yes. This is not a construct." Castiel wasn't looking at either of them. And Dean wasn't meeting anyone's eyes either. Sam was beginning to wonder what Dean's movies had been.

"We gotta chase him now? You gotta lead?" Dean asked tiredly.

"No," Castiel said, radiating a vague smugness. "Gabriel is taking care of him. He called it poetic justice."

"This should be good," Dean said. "Can we get that as a movie?"

"I do not believe he will record it."

Sam turned his head away to hide his twitching mouth. Dean rolled his eyes. Apparently, being overly literal was a way of life for the angel.

No matter. Sam was done for the day. "Guys, I'm gonna hit the shower."

Dean just waved at him. Sam locked the door behind him and dropped his clothes on the floor. The motel's weak water pressure barely served to get him wet but it was better than nothing. Especially since he still had the smells of the many realities in his nose. Even though they hadn't been real.

At some point, Dean banged against the door and shouted that he was getting burgers and that the angel had taken off. Sam yelled back to bring him a salad. Dean said something incomprehensible but most likely insulting to the salad.

When Sam got out, towel wrapped around his waist, Gabriel was sitting on his bed. Sam started, but then again, Gabriel had already seen more of him than this.

"Hey, Sam."

"Hey. I didn't think you'd come back."

Gabriel shrugged and smirked. "Consider it a debriefing. Sparrow isn't about to trick anyone again. For now, at least."

"What did you do to him?"

"Oh, this and that. Did you know that tricking people involves not just making them jump through hoops but also to make them think they're someone else?" The grin was nasty.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "So he thinks he's - what? A thirteen year old girl?"

"Better." Gabriel blew on his nails. "He thinks he really is Captain Jack Sparrow, somehow transported to this odd land with no ships in sight."

Sam tried to imagine it. Yeah, it had something.

"I like it."

Gabriel's grin softened. "I thought you might. Castiel blow out of town already?"

"Yeah. Dean's gone to get food. By the way, what did Sparrow mean that you made yourself a Trickster?"

Gabriel was still smiling, but suddenly, Sam had the impression that this time, it was a poker face. "Sam. Do you trust me?"

Oh God. "To do what?"

"At the moment, only that I don't want to do you harm."

Sam swallowed. Talk about the sixty-four thousand dollar question. "Yeah. Close enough."

Gabriel nodded. "Then - trust me when I say that getting the answer to your question would suck more right now than not getting it."

Sam considered. Somewhere along the line - and who was he kidding, he knew exactly when, with Gabriel's hands on him the only sane thing in the arena - he'd accepted that Gabriel really didn't want to hurt him. "So later might be okay?"

"Later will certainly be okay," Gabriel said. "Just not yet."

"All right. Now will you get out of here so I can get dressed? It's getting cold."

Gabriel leered at him. "You mean I can't watch?"

"No," Sam said. Gabriel didn't leave, tilting his head and waiting to see what Sam would do. Sam debated waiting until Gabriel had left but - fuck it. Let the bastard get an eyeful, it wasn't as if he hadn't seen Sam nearly naked. He dropped the towel and put his boxers on for sleeping.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows at Sam but didn't comment. "All right. See you around. And yes. You may consider that a promise."

"See you."

Gabriel snapped his fingers and was gone. Sam sighed. Perfect weird ending to a weird day.

Sam got ready for bed, bitched at Dean when he got only tomato salad and a burger, slept like a rock for five hours and woke up at two in the morning with his heart running overtime and a yearning for Ruby's blood. Back to normal.

***

Two days later, finding Ruby was turning out to be difficult. Sam looked in all the likely places but she was nowhere to be found, at least not while he was traveling with Dean who wasn't supposed to know about her. He was beginning to get worried; it wasn't like he needed the blood very often, but if they were going to stop Lilith, he had to get with the program here. It was hard enough to get practice with Dean looking over his shoulder.

Speaking of, since the episode with the Sparrow Trickster, Dean had been quiet. Nobody but Sam would have noticed, but Sam had been attuned to Dean's mood since infancy and he knew that Dean wasn't happy. This was Dean worried about something or feeling guilty. The problem was, Sam had no idea what could be the cause and even worse, had no way of finding out. Bobby, when Sam talked to him, complained that they didn't call often enough and didn't know either what could be wrong. Castiel never showed up when Sam was alone, and Dean did tell Sam about what Castiel said. So whatever the problem was, Dean was keeping it to himself. With extreme prejudice.

Getting Dean to talk about it would be tough. Sam had considered various strategies and not yet come up with a successful one which also wouldn't result in Sam getting socked in the mouth. Dean was great with the non-verbal when he wanted to be.

At first Sam had thought it was the demon blood. But Dean wouldn't have been shy about bitching him out about it. But now? Nothing. It worried Sam.

When he finally found Ruby, matters didn't improve. Sam stared at a nearly bald head and quailed in the heat of her glare.

"This is all your fault."

"What? Why? I didn't -"

"I don't know. But it's got to be." Ruby slammed her jacket on the table of her motel room, snarling. "Wherever I go, whatever I do, something goes fucking wrong. Dry-cleaning? Laundry gets lost. Lunch? Salt crust on everything I order, up to and including the drink! Hairdresser? Sets my hair _on fire_!" She whirled on him. "And you. I follow you, your car vanishes. I try to leave you a message, the motel clerk is too busy staring at my boobs. I try to call you, I get a message in Hindi. I try to catch your eye on the street, there's a damned bus between you and me and when it's gone, so are you!"

Sam had, on very rare occasions, dealt with Jess in a similar mood. That one usually involved a combination of factors including her period, her parents, the most-hated professor on the grounds, and Sam having forgotten to do the shopping. The first thing to remember was to not make excuses but offer to fix it. Trouble was, he had no idea how he was supposed to fix Ruby's bad luck.

"I'm sorry things sucked so much for you," he said, trying for understanding. "Could it be a curse?"

"Who curses a demon?" Ruby snarled. " Also, no. I'd know if someone got that close." She took a few deep breaths. "All right. All right. Sam. I'm sorry but I am too pissed off to deal with this now. Have a drink and go back to your brother."

"Okay." All in all, that was better than expected. Ruby wasn't trying to kill him at least, and if he got the blood, he wouldn't get the shakes again like the last time he'd gone longer without.

Ruby made the cut on her wrist and Sam bowed down to drink.

Then the fire alarm went off.

Needless to say, Sam did not get any blood that day.

***

When Sam got back to the motel, Dean was rekindling his relationship with the Magic Fingers, beer bottle held loosely in his left hand, eyes closed. Sam kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket over the chair.

"Hey."

Dean grunted but didn't otherwise react to Sam showing up at two a.m.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." There was a long pause, then Dean sighed. "Cas stopped by."

"Castiel? What did he say?"

"Usual cryptic crap." Dean took a long swallow of his beer and set the bottle down. The Magic Fingers motor coughed and wound down. "Got any more quarters?"

"Sorry."

"Pity."

Sam sat down on his bed and rubbed his palms together. They were itching slightly, a sign that it wasn't going to be much longer before he really needed the demon blood.

"You don't look so hot."

Sam looked up. Dean had turned over to his side and was contemplating him. "Gee, thanks."

"Guess one of the cryptic things isn't as cryptic as it was."

That made no sense at all. "What?"

"Cas said that we should stay here for a couple of days. Said that we needed the rest."

Sam frowned. "He didn't seem all that concerned with that before."

Dean sat up, nodded and stretched his arms above his head, obviously easing out the kinks in his back the Magic Fingers hadn't gotten rid of. "Right, that's why it was cryptic."

Good Lord, was Dean ever going to get to the point? "And now it's not?"

"No. You didn't get your fix. Won't feel so good the next few days."

"How do you - how did Cas know that?"

Dean shrugged. "Angel of the Lord. I guess he has higher knowledge."

Right. And Sam was pure as the driven snow. He bitchfaced at Dean, then frowned. Was that a hickey?

"Dude, did you have a girl in here?"

Dean's eyes went wide. "What? Why? No!"

"You have -" Sam gestured at his neck. Dean felt at his neck with his hand, looking confusedly innocent, then dropped it.

"No, no girl. Guess I slept on it wrong or something."

Right. But it wasn't worth fighting about. They could fight about other things instead. "So Cas figured we should stay so I can - what?"

"Detox," Dean said, meeting his eyes. He looked resigned.

"You don't get to decide that."

"No," said Dean, and Sam felt his stomach drop. "You really want to do it, I can't stop you. But you didn't get any blood tonight, so unless you can convince the skank to drop by and give you some tomorrow, you're going to be detoxing whether you want to or not." He pointed at Sam's phone, lying on the chair next to Sam's jacket. "Go ahead and call her. I may still try to kill the bitch, but go ahead and call her. See if she comes."

Sam said nothing. If Ruby even answered, he could imagine what she'd say.

When Dean realized that he wasn't going to get an answer, he pulled back the covers. "I set the alarm to 10 a.m., if we stay, we can pay then. Get some sleep." He turned off the light.

By the time Sam's eyes had gotten used to the darkness, his hands were shaking noticeably.

***

He had never left it that long. He hadn't had to. Ruby had traveled with him, and whenever he'd needed more blood, she gave it to him. The few - very few - times he was without for more than a week had only happened after Dean got out of Hell.

Ruby hadn't answered her phone and Sam was beginning to wonder if he was going to die.

Dean kept him in clean clothes, water, and what food Sam could manage. He even consented to keep the music down but not out; Sam had to admit between bouts of nausea that being able to concentrate on anything other than how sucky he felt was probably a good idea. Even if it was goddamn Metallica.

His skin itched and he felt at once too hot and too cold. Food tasted rotten, all of it, and wouldn't stay down. He spent so much time in the bathroom that Dean made him answer regularly so he would know Sam hadn't passed out. His vision was slightly fuzzy around the edges, as if there was something there Sam could just catch a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye, but never more; it vanished when he tried to look at it directly.

Reading was impossible, the laptop couldn't distract him. Everything hurt and he couldn't concentrate.

That was day one.

Day two had Sam vomiting in a bucket, lying on towels to keep the sweat off the bed. Dean made him drink again and again, and finally set down the law: if Sam still vomited up water by 4 p.m., he was going to a hospital.

Sam didn't.

Day three and Sam dozed on the bed, half-awake but not quite. Dean fed him water but after a rather spectacularly messy failure, didn't try solid food. Sam hung in the twilight between there and not and vaguely wished to wake up.

In the evening Dean woke him up to tell him that he was going on a food run. Sam dozed for another half hour until he couldn't stand it anymore, and forced himself up to turn off the music. His legs felt weaker than they were, and after a moment of rest, Sam staggered to the shower, sat down in the stall and set the water on cold. His body couldn't seem to decide whether to be sweating or freezing. At least this way he'd have a reason for being cold.

The water itself grated on his skin. Each shower jet seemed to be an acid pinprick but the dried sweat was coming off and that helped more than Sam would have thought. He stayed under the spray until he was shaking from the cold and not from -

\- cold turkey.

_Face it, Sam. You're an addict._

Sam closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead bumped against the shower wall. Icy water ran down his back. He wanted to hit something. If he hadn't felt so sick, he might have. As it was, he couldn't even stay awake for two hours at a time.

It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. Sam wasn't even drinking the demon blood to get high, he was drinking it to power up and defeat Lilith and prevent the apocalypse. And once Ruby showed up again, he'd start drinking it again to reach that goal. And could probably look forward to another bout of withdrawal once Lilith was dead. If he survived.

Just great.

Sam sighed, turned off the shower and sat down on the lid of the toilet, watching the water drip off him on the cracked tiles. Lilith or not, necessity or not, the demon blood had turned him into a junkie. So fucking unfair.

A hand closed over his shoulder.

Sam whirled, nearly banging into the wall, but there were arms around him before his elbow could slam into the wall, steadying him.

"Whoa!" Gabriel held him for a moment, arm across Sam's chest. "Easy there, tiger."

"Privacy, damn you!" Sam snarled, trying to calm his raging heartbeat. "And my towel!"

Gabriel snagged it from the sink and handed it to Sam without further teasing. "Privacy is overrated."

Sam wrapped the towel around his hips. "Says the peeping tom."

"Not so much to peep at, right now," Gabriel said, head tilted. "You sick?"

Personal epiphany or not, Sam wasn't ready to put it out there. "Something like that."

"Get back to bed, then," Gabriel said and shifted over so Sam could actually get out of the bathroom. "Want some hot tea?"

"You can -" Of course he could. Oh, what the Hell. "Why not. Chamomile?"

"You got it." A steaming cup of tea was set on his nightstand. Gabriel pointed at the bed. "Your virtue is safe. Get in bed, dying of hypothermia is not actually all that bad, but still, not that nice either."

Sam debated arguing but he still felt like shit, and right now, Gabriel was probably going to win any argument he could possibly make. He got into bed, drew up the covers and sipped his tea. It was fragrant and strong enough to soothe his upset stomach.

"Thanks."

Gabriel made a dismissing gesture and parked himself on Dean's bed. He frowned and poked at the sheets. "Huh."

Sam drank more tea. "What?"

"Oh - the littlest angel's been by."

"Yeah, Dean said that Cas came over earlier. Yesterday? Something." Shower and tea were making Sam tired. He closed his eyes for a moment, just happy not to feel as if he had to vomit all the time.

Gabriel tapped the bed. "Seems a little more in touch with his feelings."

There was something there but Sam was too exhausted to figure it out. The tea was almost gone; he drank the rest, then put the cup on the nightstand and burrowed back under the covers. If Gabriel wanted to be entertained, he could wait till Dean got back.

But Gabriel didn't appear to need entertainment. He simply leaned back against the headboard and hummed softly. Sam didn't know the melody, but it sounded like a lullaby. He didn't care. He was clean and didn't feel nauseous, it was good enough. He slept.

***

It took four days before Sam felt even a little more human and eight before he could eat normally again, having lived on dry toast and Gatorade. Dean had been the patient self Sam remembered from childhood, or rather the combination between patient and annoying self. The better Sam felt, the more annoying Dean got; Sam suspected it was an intentional strategy to make him want to get better. The thing was, it worked.

Ruby didn't call or text.

Castiel returned on day nine when Dean was already scouting out their next hunt. He was alone.

"Dean."

Dean leaned back from the laptop. "Hey, Cas. How's it going?"

The angel frowned, then the light seemed to dawn. "Fine." He inspected Sam. "I see you have overcome your addiction to demon blood for now."

What the Hell did one say to that? "Uh, yeah. Kind of sucked."

"Yes." Castiel turned back to Dean.

For a moment, Sam's vision seemed to zero in on them. It was nothing so, well, chick flick, to use Dean's limited vocabulary, as deep gazing in each others' eyes or a brightening of the room. But it was Dean leaning back on his chair, eyes guarded, yet glad. It was Castiel, looking at Dean as if Dean were the answer to every question he might ever need to ask. It was tension between them, of the good kind. It was suddenly, inescapably, _there_.

Dean was sleeping with the angel.

As the thought hit his brain, Sam felt the urgent need to get away from it. Except Castiel was telling them about another seal and Sam didn't think any excuse would be good enough to skip out of that.

The car rides with the angel proved, unfortunately, that Sam couldn't stop seeing it. Castiel always focused on Dean and on what he was doing, and paid Sam only perfunctory attention. Dean, on the other hand, kept an eye on Castiel. Occasionally two, and if Sam ever got comfortable enough with the situation, he would rag Dean about it forever and ever.

As soon as they were done with the seal, Sam took his opportunity. "I need to get out a bit, I'm going to get coffee. You want any?"

Dean nodded. "Nah, I'll get a beer. Cas? Cas."

The angel finally turned to him. Dean sighed. "Cas, you want any coffee?"

"I do not need to drink or eat," Castiel said and Sam wondered how Dean hadn't strangled him yet if that was an example of their usual conversations.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask if you need to. Do you want to?"

Castiel frowned. "I – no?"

Dean turned back to Sam with a what-can-you-do look. Sam went, trying not to listen to the explanation of _want_.

***

Ruby's text had said she'd meet him at the coffee shop at six, and it was seven now. Sam stirred the lukewarm cappucino and looked over the paper for the fifth time. He wished he'd brought his laptop or something to read at least. But he had nothing to distract him from thinking about his brother having sex. A subject Sam didn't much dwell on.

So. Dean and Castiel.

How did that even work? What about the poor guy Castiel was possessing? Also, was an angel even allowed to have sex?

Maybe they didn't have sex at all. It could just be deep friendship… Sam sighed and twitched the paper over. And maybe, the Winchester family was happy and well-adjusted. Right.

It did explain Dean's behavior. And the time Sam had seen the hickey. Even Castiel's look of total concentration when in the same room with Dean. It had always been weird, but Sam had thought it was angel-weird, not sex-weird. Either way, he wasn't sure he liked the idea. Dean was straight – had been straight – oh Hell.

But if Dean was sleeping with an angel, did straight – bi – gay even apply? Castiel could probably just as easily possess a woman. There had to be a new word. Angel-sexual. Or something. Sam pushed the now completely cold sludge away from him. He wasn't sure what bothered him more, Dean being not only into women or Dean being into angels.

The paper caught his eye again. The headline had changed. It now read "HYPOCRITE - Hunter Fucks Demon, Rags Brother About Angel" in glowing letters.

Sam looked up but saw nobody but the bored barista. When he looked back at the paper, the word had turned again into the headline that had been there before.

"Sorry, couldn't resist."

Sam heard the grin in Gabriel's voice before he saw the Trickster himself, sprawled in the seat across from him. He scowled.

Gabriel shrugged and sipped from his cup. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, thanks. And you're still a moron." Sam pushed the paper aside. "How did you know?"

"About your little extra-curricular activity with demonic lust?"

Put like that – "Yeah."

"I know addiction when I see it," Gabriel said, for once without the smirk. "And I didn't figure she'd get you sucking on her if she didn't also get you into bed."

Sam let his head fall back. "Great. Is there anyone who doesn't know about that?"

The Trickster had relaxed. "You don't want to know. But what I would really like to know is, why exactly were you drinking her blood?"

"Lilith is trying to break the seals. The yellow-eyed demon gave me these powers, might as well get something out of them. If I drink enough of Ruby's blood, I can take out Lilith." He finally gave up and put the coffee cup on an adjoining table.

Gabriel watched him silently. Sam was just beginning to feel fidgety under this regard when Gabriel leaned toward him and steepled his fingers.

"Sam." Serious. Very much so. "Who told you that killing Lilith would fix the problem?"

"What?"

Gabriel grimaced. "Ah. The light dawns." He pressed his lips together for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. "I couldn't figure out why you were so gung ho about this. This explains so much. When you've got a moment, drag Castiel aside for a heart-to-heart. Ask him what, precisely, the final seal is and how to prevent it from being broken. Ask him what the angels really want."

Sam felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "To stop the apocalypse. Right?"

"Ask him. When you have the answer – well. Go look for Ruby if you think you have to. Just don't fuck her again." He smiled, oddly sweet. "There's better than her."

"Like you?" Sam bit his lip.

The sweet smile widened. "I wouldn't say no." Gabriel stood up. "See you around." And was gone.

***

Castiel was still there when Sam got back to the motel room. He was perched on Dean's bed, looking at the TV, and also looking less than comfortable. Dean was leaning back, beer bottle in one hand, the remote in the other.

"Hey, Sam."

"Hey." Sam dumped his bag next to the TV and turned it off. Ignoring Dean's protest, he met Castiel's eyes. Sam might have imagined it, but he looked relieved. "What is the last seal?"

Castiel frowned, but somewhere under the trenchcoat he'd tensed. "It is the sixty-sixth seal. I have told you this before."

"No, I meant, is there one last seal and then the Devil gets free?"

Dean had sat up and was watching them warily. Sam felt the tension in the room skyrocket.

"There are many different seals," said Castiel, not quite meeting Sam's eyes. "They aren't numbered."

Sam shook his head. Shifty. Castiel was looking shifty. This was not good. "The last one, the final seal. The one that gets Lucifer out of the cage. Which one is that? One in particular?"

"Sam-"

"Let him answer, Dean."

Castiel was silent.

Dean's eyes went back and forth between them. "Cas?"

"It's complicated," Castiel said, as if that answered everything. "We are working to stop as many seals from being broken as possible."

The worry in Sam's gut was solidifying to certainty. "The final seal. What is it?"

Castiel made some aborted movement Sam would have called fidgeting from anyone else, then stood. "We do not have to explain ourselves to you."

"Castiel-"

"Sam." Dean gestured at him. "Back off." He turned to the angel who looked seriously uncomfortable. "Cas. Is there a reason you can't tell us?"

Castiel hesitated, looking at Dean, and Sam could see it all over again. "I – yes. There is."

"And can you tell us that reason?"

"We need your help," Castiel said and Sam was getting the distinct feeling that there was more wrong than he'd thought.

"Castiel," he said, softening his tone. "Is Lilith trying to break the last seal?"

"Yes," said Castiel, gaze still on Dean.

"So if we kill her, we prevent her from breaking the seal?" Sam could feel his heart beating in his chest.

Castiel was looking down.

Dean put the beer bottle on the nightstand and put his hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Cas, you think you could be a little more specific? I mean, we are trying to stop the apocalypse here."

When Sam thought back to it later, he was sure that Dean must have seen or felt something from Castiel Sam had overlooked. Right then, Dean's hand dropped as if a string had been cut and he took a step away from Castiel.

"What?" Sam demanded. Dean's face was white. "Dean, what?"

"They aren't," Dean said. "Trying to stop the apocalypse. The angels."

Castiel wasn't meeting their eyes. Sam felt faint. "Is that true?"

"I must go." Castiel made as if to get out from between them, then froze with Dean's hand on his chest.

"Cas. Don't."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said, looking miserable. "I have my orders."

"Fuck your orders," Dean whispered. "Whose side are you on, damn you?"

Something in Castiel's face crumpled. "I cannot-"

This was turning out to be way more intimate than Sam felt comfortable with. But he couldn't skip out now.

Dean was cupping Castiel's neck with his other hand. "Cas. Please."

"I'm sorry, Dean." Flapping of wings, and Castiel was gone. Dean slumped.

"Fuck."

"Yeah." Sam closed his eyes.

Dean was facing away from him and rubbing his eyes. "How did you know?"

"The Trickster turned up," Sam said, sinking down on the bed and resting his head in his hands.

"Which one?"

"Gabriel. He told me to ask Cas."

"Fuck."

"I didn't believe it," Sam said. "Not - he didn't say it outright, he just said I should ask. And you know, Trickster. But-"

"Yeah. But." Dean sat down next to him. "What do we do now?"

"Like I know." Sam stared at the carpet between his feet. Ruby. Ruby had been telling him all along that to stop Lilith from breaking the seal, he'd have to kill her. But from what Castiel hadn't said, that wasn't true. Ruby had lied to him. All along. "You know what this means?"

"What?"

"Ruby really isn't trying to stop the apocalypse either." It hurt more than he'd thought it would. "She just manipulated me." He felt Dean's hand come down on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Sammy. I know you wanted it to be real."

It had all been for nothing. The demon blood, the withdrawal, the sneaking around and the arguments with Dean. And Sam had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. Ruby had fed him all those lines, and reeled him in, inch by inch. Goddamn it. But really, who thought that the angels wanted the apocalypse? They had to be working with the demons then. Angels and demons against humans. It was too big. Sam pressed his hands together to stop them from shaking. And he'd almost, almost done it for her.

Worse, if Lilith dying didn't stop the final seal from breaking – and just how that would work, Sam had no idea – it would have been Sam's fault. Ruby had to have known that. And she'd still fed Sam all those lies.

"God, Dean. What do we do now?"

"I asked first," Dean said with a weirdly mirthless chuckle. "Call Bobby and ask what the seal could be? I mean, if what Cas didn't say is true, Lilith is trying to break the seal but killing her won't stop it."

"There's someone else we could ask," Sam said and waited for the explosion.

It wasn't forthcoming. "If he tells us the truth."

"He hasn't lied about this."

"Yet." Dean got up and stretched. "Let's try it. I figure we're out of options. Know how to get him here?"

Sam shrugged. "Like with Bloody Mary? Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that's gonna-"

"Hey, Sammy." Dean turned and Sam looked up. Gabriel was standing in the shadow of the wardrobe, arms crossed. His face was unreadable but he'd raised his chin like a boxer about to take a hit.

"Thanks for stopping by," Dean said. For an attempt at sarcasm, it failed badly. Gabriel's mouth twitched but he said nothing.

"We asked Castiel," Sam said. "He didn't exactly confirm it, but we figure the angels want the apocalypse to happen. And that killing Lilith wouldn't stop it. So – why? What is going on here?"

Gabriel contemplated them for a moment, then sighed. "Lilith's death is the final seal. First demon, last seal. That answer your question?"

"So – how do we stop her committing suicide when all the other seals are broken?" Dean asked.

"Her death by Winchester, rather," Gabriel said, sounding resigned. He tilted his head. "There's some more stuff going on which you don't need to know right now but someone upstairs is fond of, shall we say, symmetry. First seal broken by Dean Winchester, last seal broken by Sam Winchester. If Lilith kills herself, Lucifer isn't ever coming out of the box."

"First seal?" Sam asked, afraid of the answer. Dean had gone white again.

Gabriel nodded, a little sadly, a little cynically. Mostly, though, he looked tired.

"What seal? What seal did I break?" Dean sounded as if he was on the edge of a psychotic break. Sam couldn't blame him.

Gabriel sighed. "Kid. It wasn't as if you could have stopped it."

"What seal?"

Another sigh. "A righteous man spilling blood in Hell."

Dean took a step away from Gabriel. "That? That was the first seal?" He’d gone from white to almost green and was shaking his head.

Gabriel nodded. "All in the plan." He turned away.

"Gabriel?" Sam asked.

"Yes." The Trickster grinned mirthlessly at something only he could see. "Oh yes. I've gotten fond of you kids, and as it turns out, I haven't got anything better to do than help you stop the apocalypse. The boys are going to be pissed, but what else is new?" He stretched and grinned at Sam. "Ready for the exposition?"

Sam traded a look with Dean who still seemed shell-shocked. "Okay?"

"Here goes. After Jesus Christ died on the cross, returned to life and went to Heaven, God decided to go AFK. The angels waited a bit for Him to come back and when He didn't, they decided to move Paradise up. The way to get Paradise is the apocalypse. But bad old Lucifer's in his cage down in Hell and they need to be breaking seals to get him out. All hush-hush of course, because guess what? Not all angels are down with this plan. So, the angel faction arranges to be just a little too late, a little too slow to stop the demons. And the demons? Crossroads deals by the dozen, but usually, when a man makes a deal like that, he's not all that righteous anymore. Surprise, surprise." He grimaced. "But then along comes John Winchester, righteous as they come, and he doesn't want to make a deal for wealth or women or wine or whatever. He wants to make a deal for the life of his son. Yeah, Dean, that was righteous." Gabriel snapped his fingers and held a beer. He took a long draught. "Except that John Winchester dug his heels in, mainly because the retards downstairs told him all about their plan. And then, before they could break him, he fought his way free. Congratulations for that, by the way. Nice job."

"Is this you being supporting?" Dean asked, voice raw.

"Hell no," Gabriel answered. "This is me telling you all kinds of stuff you never wanted to know and you never were supposed to know. But as I figure it, we're going down the drain anyway, so what's the point?

"Now. Back to our story. Now, Hell's lost John. Who else can they get? Who else can they possibly get to sacrifice his life for someone else, no thought of selfishness?" He moved his finger back and forth between them and finally pointed right at Dean. "Look who's here. Dean, trying to save his brother. You want to know why the crossroads demon bargained you down to one year? They didn't want to wait. They didn't want to deal with things getting fucked up again, oh no. They wanted to grab you when they could. And they did because Winchesters are nothing but predictable."

Gabriel drank again and pointed the bottle at Sam. "You want to know something so funny you'd choke if you tried to laugh? When Hell failed with your father, can you imagine the bitching? The executive meetings? _Where did we go wrong, what should we have done differently, why was he able to resist?_ Guess what? They learned from their mistakes. If I were a betting man, and I am, I'd bet that that's the only time in the last two thousand years they did."

"Great," Dean said shakily. "I still wish they hadn't."

Gabriel snapped his fingers again and handed each of them a bottle of beer. "You'd still be in Hell. Castiel would not have gotten the order to get you out. So you'd still be there, forever and ever and ever."

"Okay, look," Sam started but Gabriel interrupted him.

"But you're not. Angel Boy dragged you out. You're here, and Lilith is wandering about the place breaking seals and taking names. Or something. Plus having her minions teach Sam to kill demons. Which, by the way, is one of three ways Lilith can be killed."

"What are the others?" Sam asked. Dean was clinging to his bottle.

"The Colt, which you no longer have. Or an angel's sword wielded by a mortal."

"Great," Dean said again. "How are we going to get one of those? Somehow I figure asking Cas for one is out of the question."

Gabriel shrugged. "I somehow doubt that he's too happy with his orders. Seems fond of you."

Sam was looking at Dean, but even so he might have missed it. A bit of embarrassment, a lot of warmth, a little betrayal.

So this wasn't just sex with the angel. This was - serious. And considering Dean's usual modus operandi, this was very, very new. Sam swallowed hard, realizing that this might actually be what Dean looked like in love. Wow.

"But - wait. If we kill her, the seal is broken, right?"

"Yeah. Quite the conundrum, seeing as she's not going to leave you alone."

Sam frowned. There was something there. "So she's willing to sacrifice herself to set Lucifer free?"

Gabriel drank. "Sure. Why not? She's the first demon and the most loyal of them all. Reward in the next world or wherever dead demons go."

Dean was breathing deeply through his nose. "Okay. So we can't kill her, she's going to keep breaking seals which kills people, we have to get rid of her. How?"

"That is the sixty-four thousand dollar question," the Trickster said. And smiled.

Sam glared at him. "You know how. You're just messing with us."

A smile again. "Yes, Sammy. I am. It's fun, don't you think?"

"No," Sam said. Enough was enough. "It's not fun. It's our life and our world and if you'd said something earlier, none of this crap would have happened."

Gabriel shook his head. "Maybe not. Maybe you'd have thought I was lying through my teeth. Maybe Ruby would have convinced you that I had my own agenda which, by the way, I do. It's just not what you think it is."

Dean pressed his lips together. "So what is it? Why are you telling us and who are you really?"

"In order? It used to be to stay under the angels' radar, now it's to keep humanity going a bit longer. I'm telling you because you have the best shot of ending this whole mess right here. Lastly?" He grinned. "You haven't paid to see that hand."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, whatever. Why did your agenda change?"

Gabriel tilted his head and smiled at him. "I found something pretty to look at and want to keep it breathing for a bit longer."

Uh. That was - oh. Sam wasn't sure what to say and hoped desperately that he wasn't blushing.

Dean, of course, was overreacting. "Really? You want to keep the world going because you've got the hots for Sam? Buddy, he may not have the best track record, but he can do better than you!"

"Dean."

"What? He's a dick!"

Gabriel showed Dean way too many teeth. "Down, Bessy. You haven't got a leg to stand on, considering your evening entertainment with the baby angel."

Dean blustered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Then you gotta tell me what you've been doing instead of _Cas_ because that maidenly blush of yours tells a different story."

“Listen, you-“ Dean rounded on Gabriel. Sam took a step back, not wanting to get in the middle of this.

The idea was still odd, Dean having sex with Castiel. Sam had mostly gotten over the gay part and even the part where Dean's lover wasn't human. Which was a good thing because otherwise, Sam would probably be freaking out about Gabriel wanting him. Wanting Sam. But Dean with an angel. Did that fall under blasphemy or lust?

Weird. Gabriel could make people appear out of thin air, amazingly beautiful and sexy women, and he wanted Sam. Sam who was tainted with demon blood, who'd fucked a demon and yes, not to put too fine a point on it, been fucked and fucked over by that demon, who had more issues than Busty Asian Beauties and who of course had a brother who couldn't stand Gabriel.

The worst part was, Sam believed Gabriel. And in retrospect, a lot of their interaction after the Sparrow incident had been, well. Courting.

Not that he was courting Sam right this minute. Instead he was provoking Dean, sitting very pointedly on Dean's bed. "Oh, the stories these sheets could tell. Not to delve too deeply into the details, but Cas has been right here, and you know what? Chances are he's getting too close to a human. So who would that be, if not you, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "Still none of your business. Back to Lilith. How do we get rid of her? And please, no inappropriate suggestions about sex with angels."

Gabriel looked intrigued for a moment and Sam figured he'd better head this off at the start. "Yeah, how do we get rid of Lilith without killing her?"

"If you insist." Gabriel drank and made the empty bottle vanish. "You seal her into Hell. There's a ritual you can use. The difficult part is that you need an angel. Or rather, you need an angel's consent."

That didn't sound good. "To do what?"

Gabriel snapped his fingers for a Snickers bar. "Nothing, really. Just turning the world upside down. Angels need the vessel's consent. Not that they're picky about how they get it, but hey, you can't have everything, right? So, angels need consent. Humans give it. At any other time, the ritual would be worthless, but now that apocalyptic preparation has started, it throws the car, as it were, into reverse. At this point, Lilith's destined place is up here on earth. The ritual turns that around, symbolically. So you request, or demand, or coerce the angel's consent, or trick him even, then do something symbolic to him, and the requirements are met. Lilith goes off to Hell. Not symbolically."

"Something symbolic?" Dean asked. "Is that another word for something dirty?"

Gabriel laughed, unwrapping the chocolate bar. "Only if you want it to be. Could be something like slapping him, though I can't recommend that, you'd probably break your hand. Or draw on him or whatever. A kiss is traditional." He nibbled at the chocolate, eyes half-closed.

"How do you know all this?" Sam asked. "Sparrow said you made yourself into a Trickster, so you weren't always. What were you before?"

Gabriel tilted his head. "You sure? Really sure?"

"Yeah. I want to know."

Gabriel finished the Snickers bar and chucked the wrapper into the bin. "Ask Castiel what he blackmailed me with. And find the rite of the hourglass. Give me a call when you have." And he was gone.

Sam grimaced. "Man, I hate that vanishing act."

"You and me both, dude." Dean sat on his bed again, prodding the sheets as if looking for something.

"You think Cas will come back?"

Dean shrugged. "I figure yes. When he's got instructions. Revelation. Or something."

"Dean, I don't like saying this, but - if he's not on our side -"

"He is." Cast-iron certainty. "I know he is. And I finally know why he's been weird lately. Well, weirder than usual." Dean cracked his neck. "He has to follow his orders, and he doesn't want to." He smiled. "He doesn't want to, and he was tapdancing around the subject and he as good as told us what was wrong."

Sam felt a bit put-upon. But not enough not to tease Dean about it. "So, you and Cas."

Dean seemed to brace himself. For a blow, laughter, Sam didn't know. "Yeah. Me and Cas. You got a problem with that?"

"No," Sam said. And because he wasn't really a dishonest person, he added, "I can hardly afford to be an asshole about it."

"Yeah, and what's up with that, anyway?" Dean demanded. "I mean, the guy's a dick!"

"He makes me laugh," Sam said. And just so he wouldn't sound like Jessica Rabbit, he grinned at Dean. "And he can eat a chocolate bar with more promise than anyone else I ever met."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "No visuals!"

Sam laughed. And then fell silent. Dean frowned. "What?"

"I just - Can you imagine what Dad would say?"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm so glad he's dead so I don't have to tell him."

"I hear you." Sam tried to imagine their father's reaction and quailed.

"So. You're not going back to Ruby, I take it?"

"Hell no," Sam said. "Not that she's been around." Something occurred to him. "You think Gabriel had something to do with that?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe he's jealous."

"Great. So we go look for this rite of the hourglass and when Cas shows up, we ask him about the blackmail and the symbolic consent."

Dean nodded. "Bobby should have something on the ritual. I'm going to give him a call and we see what he can dig up?"

***

Sam spent most of the evening, when Dean was asleep, lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Not only had Dean admitted sleeping with Castiel, he hadn't even given Sam too much shit for Gabriel. And Gabriel had actually come out and said that he wanted Sam.

Now Sam just had to decide how he felt about Gabriel.

Sam shifted to find a more comfortable position. How did he feel about Gabriel? Well, apart from the whole Trickster-and-something-else issue, Gabriel was fun to have around. Not that Sam had been thinking about sex when faced with Gabriel, but now that it was on the table, he wasn't exactly turned off by the idea either.

At least it wasn't the first time he'd thought about a guy before. Having left the family business, college turned out to be much less constrained. Sex with a guy was easy, with less drama and more, well, sex. But then he'd met Jess and, well. Love hadn't hit him between the eyes, it had ambushed him from the back and by the time she smiled at him across the hall, Sam hadn't wanted to get away. She was all Sam wanted, apple pie life and the American Dream and he hadn't looked at a guy again. He hadn't wanted to.

And of course, checking out the men was out as long as Dean was around. Because Dean would have thought it was hilarious and then fratricide would have been in Sam's near future.

Then again, he had ammunition against Dean now, considering Castiel. And man, considering Castiel doing Dean was just freaky, and this was after Sam had started getting used to the thought. An angel of the Lord.

None of which helped with Gabriel. Sam could see himself spending time with him - well, spending more time with him. Question was, how about sex? How did he feel about sleeping with Gabriel? Was he even hot for the guy? Sam sighed. He could find that out at least. Sam threw Dean a look, but he appeared dead to the world. Fair enough.

He turned to his side, facing away from Dean and closed his eyes. Gabriel, dressed in nothing but the Greek tunic. Sam frowned, then added a light sheen of oil to the image. Call it poetic license. So, Gabriel in oil.

Sam slid his hands slowly down his belly, deliberately brushing his fingers over his nipples, the fabric of his t-shirt catching on his calluses, cloth sliding over his nipples, adding a slight thrum to his blood, sending it rippling down.

When he reached the waistband of his boxers, his eyes were half-closed, Gabriel's image sharp in his mind's eye. His blondish hair, just a tad too long, his eyes which couldn't decide whether to be green or brown, the way he held himself with that confident self-assurance that made Sam forget just how small he was. Smirk in place.

Sam's cock twitched slightly, unexpectedly. Possibly not that unexpectedly, Sam thought, palming it, considering his track record. Shy and sweet had never done it for him. Witty, yes.

He slid his left hand down to his balls, fondling them and got a good grip on his cock with his right, settling down into nice and steady rhythm of stroking up and down. He was only half hard, yet Sam already felt heat slowly pooling just below his balls, the familiar rhythm already working.

But he was trying to figure something out here and had to get with the program.

Sam slowed down and pictured Gabriel, smirking, hips slightly cocked, one hand holding the folds of the tunic to his shoulder, the other dangling loosely. He'd slide one hand up to Gabriel's shoulder, skin slick with oil, the soft-hard feel of muscles under his fingertips. And as Sam slid his hand up the column of Gabriel's neck into his hair, briefly feeling the speeding thrum of Gabriel's pulse, Gabriel would look up from under his bangs.

It shouldn't be sexy, seeing someone grin at you like you just didn't get the joke. But it was. Sam imagined Gabriel's sexy look and gripped himself harder; steadied his breathing so Dean wouldn't wake up.

His cock had filled and he sped up his stroking, warmth was running down his spine and he felt that peculiar mix of languor and tension spreading through his body. Years of habit made him check on Dean again, but his brother was still firmly asleep, his back turned, his breathing even and regular. Here was to hoping he'd stay that way.

Sam felt his own breath coming in shorter bursts as he imagined Gabriel closing the distance between them in a quick decisive move and pressing himself full length to Sam and forced it to calm again. Gabriel would grip Sam's shoulders hard. His hands were warm and strong, much stronger than they should be. He yanked Sam downwards to seal their lips together, licking imaginary Sam's mouth open and moving in with his tongue.

Sam's cock surged and he felt precome slickening his grip on himself. He twisted his other hand and pressed two fingers behind his balls, just enough to wring another full body shudder from his muscles.

And then the fantasy got away from Sam a bit. Suddenly they were both naked, skin sticky and smooth with oil, warm under Sam's hands. He tried to imagine touching Gabriel's cock, running his palm over the head. Then had to stop and steady his breathing again. He felt overheated and sweaty under his blanket and shoved it a bit further down, his hand on his dick moving rapidly, sweat and precome making for perfect slickness as his hand brushed over the head of his dick and his other hand trailed over his perineum. Spreading his legs, he let his fingers brush over his hole, his thoughts on touching Gabriel's cock. Pleasure was roiling low in his belly, just waiting for the right moment. Sam tried to draw it out a bit. He brought Gabriel's face to the forefront again, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. He'd enjoy Sam touching his cock, and he'd give that right back, hands on Sam's cock and Sam bit his lip, suddenly coming, the image of Gabriel still smirking in his mind's eye. He clamped his mouth shut over his gasp, riding out the pleasure.

A minute passed, Sam's hand still on his spent dick, that was - well. Innuendo and flirting, sure, but this? What did you call this?

Okay, thought Sam, sweat slowly drying in the hollow of his navel, spunk cooling on his belly, on his shoulders, all right already, tick the box for attraction to Gabriel. Emphatically.

***

Seals kept breaking.

Dean and Sam were left in limbo, more or less. They'd kept trying to save seals, losing some, winning some, but working against both demons and angels, there was always another seal. And they shattered like blown glass. And when the count of broken seals was up to sixty-five, they stopped. Stalemate.

If Sam had needed any more proof that Gabriel had told them the truth, that would have been it. Neither demons nor angels nor anyone else attacked a single seal after the sixty-fifth had been broken.

Castiel hadn't been back. Uriel had, giving them orders he seemed to expect them to ignore and did not answer any questions about seals. Or about where Castiel was.

Dean, in consequence, was being a bitch. Sam couldn't blame him.

For three weeks after the sixty-fifth seal had been broken, nothing had happened save that Bobby was getting closer and closer to finding the rite of the hourglass. Sam tuned out Dean's bitching and Bobby's complaints and hid behind the computer screen.

Putting "rite" and "hourglass" into Google was like sticking one's hand into a piranha tank full of emo, goth, and new age. Pagan rituals, Freemasons, and gravestone symbolism. And none of it was relevant in any way. Sam leaned back and stretched, listening to the rise and fall of Dean's voice on the phone with Bobby. It sort of made sense. Castiel had told Dean that the angels hadn't walked the earth for two thousand years. So nobody'd kept the ritual which was pretty much useless, without an angel around.

No angels around... Sam typed in "angel" for the heck of it and snorted when he saw that the Wikipedia entry for the TV series came up before the one for actual angels. Angels in Judaism, Christianity, Islam. Famous angels. Uriel was listed, Castiel not. Well, no surprise there either, they'd started with the named angels. Michael, Gabriel, huh, Raphael, Uriel. At least they wouldn't have to dig one of those dicks out of the woodwork to give consent, if Dean could convince Castiel.

Speaking of... Sam put "Castiel" in a new Google tab and found the Angel of Thursday. Man, that had to be depressing, it wasn't even Saturday. The only good thing to say about Thursday was that it was almost Friday.

Sam rolled his eyes when Dean's complaints crescendo'ed and Bobby called him an idjit loudly enough for Sam to hear it from the phone. Better not to get into the middle of that.

 _Angels are creatures of good, spirits of love, and messengers of the savior Jesus Christ._ Screw you, Wikipedia, Sam thought. Well, one out of three ain't bad? Messengers, always with the orders - hello, Castiel - and the information and -

He couldn't say why it occurred to him now. He couldn't say what had prompted him to look on Wikipedia of all places. But like Dean's relationship with Castiel, he couldn't unsee it and the very next sentence nailed him to the wall.

_Later came identification of individual angelic messengers: Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, and Satan/Lucifer._

Oh God. As it were.

Sam sat, fingers clenched in his lap and stared at the screen. He barely managed to nod at Dean who blew past him to say that Bobby was - finally - emailing them the rite and that he was getting chicken for dinner, and then Sam was alone with the pink elephant in the room.

Gabriel. Sam wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry. Remembering the look on his face when Sam had come up with it, Gabriel hadn't been either.

It made sense in the worst possible way. Sam jumped when the laptop beeped, then forced his hands to relax and stared at the email attachment, a picture of Arabic calligraphy, the translation underneath. The ritual didn't need much. It needed nothing, actually. All it needed was the will to turn destiny around, to gain an angel's consent, to follow through without doubt all the way to the manifestation. Check, check, and check, except Sam wasn't sure what the manifestation was, precisely.

Sam breathed deeply. Found a soda in the fridge and drank it down, then tossed the can. Dug through Dean's washbag for the necessary supplies. Closed his eyes. And prayed.

"O God, who from among all your angels chose the Archangel Gabriel to announce the mystery of the Incarnation, mercifully grant that we who solemnly remember him on earth may feel the benefit of his patronage in heaven, who lives and reigns for ever and ever. And possibly his presence on earth. Amen."

This time, he was listening for it. This time, he heard the soft wingbeat.

"You rang?"

Gabriel leaned against the door, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. Sam swallowed hard, remembering the last time he had seen it, and yeah, awkward looking at a jerk-off fantasy. He felt his face getting hot, but it was already done and if Hell held a special place for people who perved on Gabriel, messenger and Archangel of the Lord, Sam knew where he was going.

Time to put his money where his mouth was. He walked over to Gabriel, cheap motel carpet rough under his bare feet. He took that extra step into Gabriel's space and reached out. Gabriel raised his brows at him, face still and calm but when Sam tapped his crossed arms he unfolded them easily and let Sam take his hands. Sam held him firmly, lowering his head slightly; he was towering enough as it was. Gabriel smelled of wind and water, of fairground and popcorn, and of something older, something primal. Sam shuddered and felt Gabriel's hands turn in his. The smirk was gone, a quirky smile in its stead, and knowing expectation like a bridge laid across a chasm.

Sam felt something lift in him, a weight he hadn't known he felt. This was actually happening. Gabriel seemed to see something in his face and the smile turned saucy.

"Word of advice before we start?" He squeezed Sam's hands with more strength than his body should contain. "Symbolic is all good and well, but bigger is better, in these cases."

Sam felt his mouth twitch and took a deep breath. "Gabriel, Messenger of God, do you give consent?"

"Sam Winchester, I give consent." Gabriel smiled and the Trickster was gone, the Archangel there instead and energy settled within the room, like a lion ready to pounce. Goosebumps rose on Sam's arms and he wondered for a moment how an Archangel was different from the normal variety. And if he was going to survive this.

Gabriel tilted his head, then nodded and turned his face up for a kiss. Sam obliged, dipping his head to touch his lips to Gabriel's. Electricity crawled under his skin.

Gabriel's lips were cool and dry, and Sam tasted grass and a hint of sugar. He liked it. He let his hands move up from grasping Gabriel's hands towards his shoulders trying to gauge the difference between imagination and reality. Gabriel's jacket let him only feel so much, so he slid it off his shoulders. As it hit the carpet with a slight thump, he briefly, hilariously wondered what an Archangel might keep in his pockets but then Gabriel's tongue brushed against his lips and he opened them eagerly to let him in. He tested the waters with his own tongue and felt Gabriel respond, tongue against tongue, and Sam wondered, wildly, if this was how the message was told.

Sam shifted his hands further upward, sliding his fingers over skin into Gabriel's hair. Their tongues were playing over each other, catching on teeth then shifting back to the softness of lips again. Sam's whole being focused on this slow, wet dance and the feel of Gabriel's head cradled in his hands. There was pressure against his body and every touch increased it; Sam felt as if his hair should stand on end but it didn't. He thought that if he stopped kissing Gabriel, he'd be able to taste the energy in the room.

At some point Sam felt Gabriel's hands settle on his waist. His whole front, where he was pressing himself against Gabriel (when had that happened?), felt unnaturally hot. And now that he had noticed, he felt his dick uncomfortably constricted in his jeans. It probably wasn't too soon to move on to more skin. More skin was good.

He opened Gabriel's shirt slowly, blindly, still kissing, feeling his way. Smooth, unscarred skin, a slight hitch in Gabriel's breathing as Sam brushed a nipple in passing. Sam felt a dark wave of want rising up from the soles of his feet, rolling through him. He had to allow some distance between them so Gabriel could slide his arms out of his shirt. He took the opportunity to strip out of his own clothes, turning back to Gabriel as soon as possible. Standing there shirtless, his hair falling into his face, he looked oddly young, until Sam's eyes met his and it was obvious in them that he wasn't.

Sam had expected some comment or other when he stripped but Gabriel just stood there, not looking anywhere but at Sam's face, apparently waiting.

Sam felt slightly more together, now that they had stopped touching. Taking a deep breath he stepped closer again. Gabriel let Sam undress him passively, assisted him only slightly, and when they were naked before each other, Gabriel smiled and spread his arms slightly. Here I am, he seemed to say, what are you going to do with me?

 _Do something symbolic_ , Gabriel had said. So it was up to Sam to do the, er, doing. It occurred to him rather belatedly that he might have done some research on this, but too late now. Dean wasn't going to be out getting chicken forever. Also, Gabriel was probably going to disintegrate him if he stopped to look up how to have gay sex now.

Fuck it. Couldn't be that different from doing it with a woman. They seemed to have been doing quite alright before, considering that Sam's dick actually ached from where it had been confined in his jeans and his balls felt heavy with want.

Gabriel's cock was jutting out straight forward, flushed and uncut, Sam noted absently.

Sam stepped even closer, breath falling out of him as their cocks brushed. He deliberately towered over Gabriel, keeping eye contact, bent his knees a bit and slid his arms around Gabriel's ass and lifted. Gabriel assisted, slipping his legs around Sam's waist for leverage. As Sam set him down on the bed, he slid over Gabriel as if it was the most natural thing in the world, covering him easily. Everywhere they touched, skin on skin now, that static electricity ran along Sam's body. Their lips met again and Sam let his eyes fall shut and went with feeling everything. The languid, wet slide of Gabriel's tongue against his lit a fire in the pit of his stomach. Gabriel reached up, caressing the side of Sam's face, sliding to the back of his head, giving him a slight tug. Sam bent deeper, lips lingering against Gabriel's mouth.

It felt so good. So Sam went with it, kissing Gabriel's face, his neck, his chest, his nipples, everything a different flavor, a different scent. Gabriel was silent during all of it, except for the occasional hitched breath and Sam kept looking up to see if this was still all right with Gabriel, who was not a partner in all this, but some kind of ritual sacrifice, and Sam really, really would not have been fine with it if Gabriel wasn't.

But each time Sam looked, Gabriel was smiling or nodding, and finally, when Sam had gathered up the necessary courage to kiss his dick, Gabriel ran his hands through Sam's hair and gave instructions that way, tapping, lightly pulling, urging onwards. Sam tried out the things he liked - Ruby had done this thing with tongue and fingers Gabriel also appreciated - and tried not to feel selfconscious. This was very much not like it had been with any woman or guy before. This felt charged and heavy and uncomfortable, not only because the fate of the world hung on this. Yeah, no pressure. The further the whole thing went, the more acutely aware Sam became that even though it felt awesome it also felt somehow less real than his fantasy, and as Sam found himself fishing Dean's lube from the nightstand, he had to stop, because his throat had closed up.

Gabriel had opened his eyes to see why Sam was stopping and at the sight of the tube, he licked his lips. Sam nearly fumbled the cap, distracted by the promise in Gabriel's gaze.

This was it, he realized. This had to be it. Gabriel was spreading his legs, and Sam had to stop again and close his eyes for a moment. Yes, this should feel amazing and it kind of did but also, where was Gabriel in all of this? Did he even actually want this, apart from the whole saving the world bit?

It was wrong. And Sam felt wrong. Wrong that he had asked for sex instead of a kiss or something, making Gabriel just take it. Wrong because Sam wanted to see Gabriel having sex the way Gabriel had sex, not this, this passivity. Wrong because his fingers were sticky and there were so many jokes Gabriel would be making about it or teasing him because they had to hurry before Dean came back and Sam hated it.

The energy in the room seemed to close in on him and Sam shuddered, not knowing what would happen if he fucked this up. The tiny hairs at the back of his neck were rising and the more he hesitated, the worse it got.

Then he felt Gabriel's hand against his face, fingertips tapping against his jaw. Sam opened his eyes.

Gabriel's cock was hard against his belly. Sam found his face pushed up again and felt his eyes widen. Gabriel wasn't upset. His face was flushed, his lips bitten, his pupils blown.

"I give consent, Sam Winchester. Consent you didn't coerce or trick out of me," Gabriel whispered. "And now do something before your brother gets back here."

Sam rested his forehead against Gabriel's thigh for a moment, holding back laughter and feeling so very much relieved. It was okay to want this and Sam wanted this so very much. His hard dick was pressed into the sheets and he almost thought he could feel the weave on the sensitive head, rubbing sweetly as he moved. Gabriel's hand had settled into his hair, running strong fingers through it in what Sam was now sure was impatience. Sam gladly complied, planting a kiss on Gabriel's stomach as he scooted to his knees. He settled Gabriel's thighs on his own. The lube had started drying on his fingers. Sam squeezed out more and slicked himself up, his grip carefully not enough. And maybe he felt a small thrill walk down his spine as Gabriel's glittering eyes rested on Sam's dick.

Sam leaned down towards Gabriel's mouth, silently asking for a kiss, receiving it and while their tongues tangoed, he pressed his cock deliberately just behind Gabriel's balls, angling downward. The lube made them slide easily together and Sam didn't know what made him groan, Gabriel's appreciative surge upward or the sheer feeling of Gabriel's ass cheeks brushing his dick. Gabriel's legs were now pressed to Sam's sides, his heels resting on the small of his back, putting pressure there which translated nicely into Sam's cock pressing down harder, just the right side of painful at this angle.

So when Gabriel started shifting, obviously intent on changing something about this, he felt a bit put upon. But Gabriel was apparently determined and Sam fully appreciated the effort when Gabriel managed to slip his own arms down his sides, folding in on himself, under Sam, grabbing and tilting his hips, spreading himself open. Sam's cock slid over Gabriel's hole on the next downstroke and this time both of them groaned into their kiss.

The angle for Sam to do anything fancy was rubbish but going by both their laboured breathing and increasingly uncoordinated and sloppy kissing, that didn't matter one bit.

When their lips finally parted, Sam somehow found the coordination to heave himself upwards a bit and fumble more lube onto his fingers. He worked his hand into the sweaty, hot space between their bodies, holding himself up with the other arm and brushed his knuckle over the puckered entrance into Gabriel's body and then slid his middle finger in easily.

Sam let his head fall back, his eyes clenched shut against the scorching hot feeling of the inside of Gabriel's body around his finger. His dick had slid backwards between Gabriel's ass cheeks and Sam couldn't help but thrust lightly. It all felt so amazing. Gabriel's breath stirred the hairs on his forearm, he must have turned his head to the side. Sam managed to open his eyes again, checking. Gabriel looking absolutely wanton, hands around and under himself, offering himself up to Sam and Sam happily obliged him by sliding his finger in and out, crooking it just the slightest bit. He was rewarded by Gabriel gasping, his cock surging untouched as Sam's fingertip found just the right spot inside of him.

When Sam could slide two fingers in and out easily, Gabriel apparently decided it was enough teasing, tilted his hips even more and Sam complied by taking advantage of the absolutely fantastic angle Gabriel had provided. He sat back on his haunches and positioned himself. Looking down between their bodies, Sam was transfixed. He heard Gabriel's sharp inhalation and when he briefly looked up, he saw Gabriel staring at him wildly, pupils blown, his lips bitten red and glittering wetly. His breath was coming in harsh gasps, which sent Sam into a full body shudder. Looking down again Sam saw and felt himself bearing down slowly into a tightness he had only half expected.

Ruby had smiled when he entered her. Sam's eyes flew to Gabriel's face searchingly. Gabriel's gaze had lost focus and Sam stopped himself from blindly thrusting in. Only when Gabriel exhaled noisily did he inch forward a bit. Gabriel's head fell back and his mouth dropped open. Sam had to press a kiss somewhere, anywhere. The hollow of Gabriel's neck tasted salty and Sam licked a long swipe along Gabriel's collarbone. Gabriel's surprised grunt mingled with Sam's own as Gabriel tilted his hips downward, which made Sam slide in nearly all the way. He held himself very carefully, sure to otherwise either hurt Gabriel or explode.

This gave him time to feel the ritual's energy swirling between them, spiraling in slowly. The air felt heavy and pressurized and for a moment Sam felt intimidated and oddly insignificant. But then Gabriel clenched and Sam couldn't contain a surprised yelp of 'Fuck, Gabriel!' at the glorious velvet soft grip on his cock and the accompanying surge of white hot pleasure jackknifing through him.

Careful didn't last once Gabriel finally started making noise and it was like a dam breaking. They were in this together.

Sam straightened his arms, holding himself over Gabriel's torso, angled his thrusts, listening hard to the noises Gabriel made, waiting for the right ones. Sweat was rising between his shoulder blades and then he seemed to have found just the right spot, considering the stream of Gabriel's words was suddenly reduced to long keening sounds like birdcall whistles. Sam could only close his eyes to the sight of Gabriel coming apart under him to make it last. Blindly he shifted his weight to one arm and reached between them, finding Gabriel's cock. It was leaking precome and felt slick and hotly alive in his hand. All breath seemed to fall out of Gabriel in one long hiss. Sam stroked up and down in graceless efficiency, too turned on by the sound of Gabriel on the edge.

Then Gabriel gave up a surprised groan, clenching around Sam and his dick jerked in Sam's grip. Sam felt Gabriel's pulse spurting out of him, striping both their bellies in hot wetness. Sam was almost there, almost -

The door opened, the smell of fried chicken wafted in. Dean carolled, "Honey, I'm home - what the fuck -"

Sam was casting around for possible missiles and Gabriel's expression promised death and destruction but before either could blast Dean out of existence or try to, Castiel materialized next to Dean, took his arm and vanished again, taking Dean with him.

Gabriel let his head drop back, his breath catching on the exhale, his hands suddenly on Sam, fingernails digging groves into Sam's ass.

“Come on, Winchester, give it up!” His voice sounded wrecked.

And laughing, but still so turned on, Sam groaned, rolled his hips once, twice, thrusting and gave it up.

The ritual energy closed around them as tightly as it would go and it seemed to _vibrate_ and as Sam came, he dove down, capturing Gabriel's lips, sealing their mouths and bodies together.

Through his distraction, Sam heard a whispered "Yes". Something shifted under his hands, he opened his eyes, breaking the kiss and couldn't hold back a gasp. He was being pushed upwards because Gabriel was rising under him, propelled up by massive wings of air and darkness, that seemed to flow out from under them, spilling over the bed, filling the room, darkening it, the only light now coming from Gabriel's eyes, white and clear like the light of a star.

Sam's ears were ringing, a dull roar making his teeth rattle and his bones creak; he felt the non-sensation of Gabriel's wings on his hands, against his arms, his legs, everywhere; felt Gabriel's hand against his neck, pulling him inexorably into a kiss that was like liquid nitrogen, so cold there was a burst of pain in his teeth; felt all the power of the ritual slam out like a loosened rope, flailing wildly for a moment, then the direction was clear and it went, and Gabriel's wings snapped out to their full span, beyond the room, beyond the state, beyond any border, out, out, everywhere. They faded from view like smoke, and when Gabriel finally broke the kiss, that, too, was no longer more than Sam could stand.

Gabriel settled them down again and Sam let himself slump against Gabriel, small tremors in his muscles making him shudder again and again, finally felt himself slip out of Gabriel's body, a last spasm slightly less then pleasant. Gabriel sighed and pulled him closer, settling him against his shoulder, obviously not bothered by Sam's weight.

After a few minutes, when Sam felt less like an overextended bowstring, Gabriel murmured into his hair. "Don't take this the wrong way, but do you mind if I kill your brother?"

"You get used to it," Sam said. "I assume that worked?"

"Oh yeah." Gabriel's fingers were combing idly through his hair. "Probably doesn't know what hit her."

"Mhm." Sam sighed. Finally. In so very many ways.

Gabriel gave him a few more minutes, then prodded him. "Go shower, get dressed. We're about to have visitors."

"Dean and Cas?" Sam rolled off him reluctantly, slowly gathering himself. He already missed the furnace heat of Gabriel's body under him.

"And a few more," Gabriel said, sitting up. "I've been off the grid for a thousand years, and now this? At the very least, Uriel is going to show and demand why I've been stomping his sandcastle." He reached for Sam's hand and started playing with his fingers idly, Sam shuddered briefly and warmly.

"How would they know?" Sam demanded.

Gabriel laughed. "Let me put it this way: I have just broadcast on all frequencies that I'm back, bitches, and I fucked your plans to Hell and back. Oh, and Sam Winchester helped me do it." He laughed again at Sam's horrified look. "Come on, Sammy, you've got bragging rights forever. Savor 'em."

Sam contemplated hitting him with a pillow and figured changing the subject was the better part of valor. "Did they all want the apocalypse?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Don't think so. Castiel didn't, obviously, so Uriel and up had to be lying to him at first, and then - well. We were made to obey, Sam. And those of us who also can give orders, you can count on one hand." He laughed, suddenly. "But he's turned into a regular little lawyer. No orders to interfere with me, so he didn't. Even when he realized what was going on."

"Is he going to get in trouble?" Sam suddenly noticed that he had gone tense all over with Gabriel's fingers brushing the back of his hand in a soothing pattern. Pressing back briefly, but unable to keep still any longer, he untangled their fingers, got off the bed and made his way to the bathroom.

Gabriel shook his head. "Doubt it. I'll make a much better target."

Sam let go of the bathroom door. "You'll be careful?"

He got a grin. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I'm never careful, that's why I'm still alive. Also, I'll be back to screw you through the mattress."

Sam grinned back. "Can't wait."

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> The movies are: Pirates of the Caribbean, Van Helsing, Jodhaa Akbar, Jeeves and Wooster (the series), The Mummy, Men in Black, Star Wars - Return of the Jedi.
> 
> The original version of the prayer can be found here: http://www.catholic-saints.info/catholic-saints-prayers/prayer-to-st-gabriel-the-archangel.htm
> 
> Methaya wrote the sex scenes because I cannot write sex to save my life. Go her!


End file.
